


There’s No Such Thing As TMI Among Friends

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animalistic, First Time, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scenting, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was jerking off, but had to give up halfway through because my wrist hurt.”  </p><p>With those words, Stiles destroys Derek’s carefully maintained fiction that Stiles is still the skinny, geeky, awkward sixteen-year-old he first ran into that day in the Preserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s No Such Thing As TMI Among Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orangemarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangemarie/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 17: Gift for Orangemarie!
> 
> Happy December 17!

Derek looked at the papers piled up around his loft, glowered at the books and journals and fucking _scrolls_ that were scattered across the planning table and dropped his eyes back to his laptop. The machine was audibly whirring, the dozens of tabs open on it eating up all the available memory.

With a groan of defeat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Closing out the open apps, he pulled up his contact list and stared at the name that showed up as seven out of his ten most recent calls. 

_Stiles._

He considered other options, running through each of them in his head. The problem was, he knew even if he called in other people first, or found new sources, or the bestiary _actually pinged on something_ — even though it hadn’t done so in the last three searches he’d run — he was still, eventually, going to have to call Stiles. And then he’d have to hear Stiles bitching about not being called in right away.

Was it so wrong that Derek wanted to give him a break from the constant supernatural research? And sure, it wasn’t completely altruistic of him, because he _also_ wanted to give himself a break from the dorky, spastic, mouthy little shit, but…. Dammit.

Letting his entire body deflate for a moment, Derek made himself face the awful truth: He was going to have to call Stiles and ask for his help. Fucking goddammit.

Jabbing Stiles’ name with his finger _almost_ hard enough to crack the screen — but not _quite_ that hard because he was familiar with how hard he’d hit it the three times he’d done that before, and he just didn’t have time to replace his touch screen again — Derek put his phone on speaker and waited for Stiles to pick up. It rang three times, then four, and Derek was sure it was going to go to voicemail. 

But just as he was mentally preparing the message he would need to leave, he heard the phone click and a breathlessly gruff voice mutter, “Stiles’ Supernatural Stupidity Service, how can my Google Fu help you today?”

Derek breathed out for a count of two, tamping down the instant flare of irritation he felt. “Stiles.”

"Derek. Were you just calling so we could mutually verify our identities or…?"

"Shut up!" Derek snapped, then winced because _fuck_ , there was now a fifty-fifty chance he’d pissed off Stiles enough that he wouldn’t help without reducing Derek to grovelling first. Wracking his brain for a way to correct the situation without encouraging Stiles’ chatter, Derek asked, “What are you doing right now?”

There. That should be good. Stiles always bitched about them not taking _his_ schedule into consideration, just expecting him to drop everything when the pack called. Not that Derek would let him put anything else before the safety of the pack, but if he gave the _illusion_ of caring—

"I was jerking off, but had to give up halfway through because my wrist hurt."

Derek wouldn’t be able to accurately describe later what happened in the heartbeats after Stiles shared that information. It was like every thought in his head floated out of the top of it, leaving behind a blank space. 

He wouldn’t be able to understand it later either, because it wasn’t as if he’d never heard Stiles talking about his masturbatory practices. It had just never been so… casual. So specifically directed at Derek, even though Derek knew very well Stiles would have said the exact same thing if anyone else had called him.

But still Derek’s brain stalled out, lagged, became filled with white noise. And perhaps that was as good an excuse as any for Derek next, strangled, question. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

Stiles, of course, wasn’t fazed at all by Derek’s too-personal query. His voice was all breezy nonchalance as he said, “Oh, nothing. Just the angle was bad. You know how it is when you’re trying to fuck yourself on your fingers.”

"No. I’ve never…" As those words passed his lips, Derek’s brain came back online and he snapped his teeth over the rest, leaving the telling confession on the tip of his tongue.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. Obviously Stiles had heard enough. “Really? Man, that sucks. If anyone could use a good introduction to their prostate gland, its you.”

"Whatever. That’s not what I called about." Derek took a deep breath, eyes dropping to his laptop and then skating over the room again to remind his sluggish brain why he _was_ calling. 

Apparently he stalled too long though, because Stiles took that opportunity to say, “You really don’t know what you’re missing, dude. Seriously. Try it sometime. Lots of lube of course, but man, just slide a few fingers up there and kind of like curl them and—”

"Ugh. Shut _up._ I don’t need help masturba— No. I’m not letting you drag me off topic. What do you know about brownies?”

"I prefer mine fudgey and chewy with peanut butter chips mixed in?"

Stifling the urge to roll his eyes — Stiles would _know_ if he did, somehow, and take exception — Derek growled, “Not those kind of brownies, idiot.”

"Ugh. Damn. Just once… Why can’t it be delicious chocolatey goodness?"

Pressing his fingers against his closed eyes, Derek huffed out an aggrieved sigh. “Just… Come over. I’ve got all the stuff pulled out already, and I need another set of eyes.”

Stiles snorted inelegantly. “How long did it take you to break this time?”

Derek just bared his teeth at the phone and hung up.

—

When Stiles pulled open the door to the loft, letting himself in, Derek was bent over the metal table near the windows, trying to get the handwriting on one of the vellum scrolls to make sense. 

"This is the best lead, but I can’t fucking _read_ the damn thing,” he called out, not bothering to turn around. Gesturing to the scroll, he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest, a low pounding beginning behind his eyes. “Given your own chicken-scratch writing, maybe you’ll have better luck.”

"Yeah, yeah. We can’t all have picture-perfect script." Stiles came into his peripheral vision, bracing his hands on the table. 

A subtle scent wound through the air, making Derek’s nose twitch and his mouth water. He blinked, looking over at Stiles for the first time since he’d entered and what he saw was… puzzling. 

The last Derek remembered, Stiles’ hair had been clipped short in a buzz cut. Now it was… longer. Too long to account for the week or so since Derek had last seen him. Narrowing his eyes, Derek swept them over Stiles’ individual features. Being naturally suspicious of anything out of the ordinary, Derek felt his hackles rising at all the changes he saw in Stiles’ appearance.

Instead of the too-large flannel over a graphic tee and baggy jeans, Stiles was wearing a simple, unadorned tee shirt that fit through the shoulders. Shoulders that were wider than Derek remembered them being. And his arms were… not muscular, not in the traditional definition. Derek wasn’t in danger of unwillingly attending a gun show or anything, but Stiles’ arms looked powerful in a lean, understated way, and that ropey muscle continued down to his forearms. His hands were large, but deceptively slender with long fingers that looked like they could—

Derek shuddered, dragging his gaze away from _that_ danger zone. A small part of him panicked for a moment, wondering if he’d let in some sort of shapeshifting creature that was wearing the wrong version of Stiles, but he settled almost immediately. Because for all the changes Derek was noticing, two things remained the same: The scent that was pure Stiles and the unique heartbeat that Derek would recognize anywhere. 

But still that _other_ scent continued to tantalize him, making his skin feel too small, tight in all the wrong ways with Stiles standing so close. He tilted his head toward Stiles, giving a subtle sniff, wondering if it was a new cologne. Then he frowned, because it was far too faint to be cologne. 

Obviously noticing Derek looming closer, Stiles shot a look at him, eyebrows winging upward in question. “What’s up, dude?”

"Can you read it?" Derek asked, covering his confusion and gesturing to the scroll, then cleared his throat when his voice came out all raspy.

Stiles shrugged, and the soft material of his tee shirt stretched with the movement, dragging Derek’s gaze back to those shoulders once more. From there it was like his eyes were _drawn_ to Stiles’ long neck, then his chiselled jaw — when had it become _chiselled_ — and his wide, pink, mobile mouth, that was twisting and pursing in concentration. The movement of his mouth pulled the skin over his cheekbones taut, highlighting the fact that the baby-faced roundness Derek remembered was missing, melted away with age.

"How old are you?" Derek heard, and was almost shocked to realize _he’d_ been the one to ask.

"Really?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes up to let Derek see how unamused he was by the question.

"Sorry," Derek muttered, shaking his head, wracking his brain to come up with the answer on his own. It was embarrassing to note that he _couldn’t_. Then, because it was suddenly _vitally important_ to him to provide a reason for his own lack of attention, he said, “I feel like the last few years are a blur sometimes.”

"Running straight from one life-or-death situation to another will do that, dude." One corner of Stiles’ mouth quirked up as he bumped shoulders with Derek. 

Derek had to clench his teeth to stifle a gasp at the feeling of Stiles’ skin rubbing over his own. “I’m sure that’s what it is,” he finally grunted.

"Yeah, well, you _do_ remember our graduation party, right?” Stiles asked, letting out a bark of laughter. His eyes glinted up at Derek through his dark lashes, his mouth stretched wide with his smile. “I thought you were going to murder us all.”

Ah, finally something he could recall with pin-point accuracy. “One day, you idiots will realize I don’t want a thousand strange bodies rubbing themselves all over my loft.”

"It wasn’t a _thousand_. It was just a few dozen of our closest acquaintances.” Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered, and something turned over in the pit of Derek’s stomach. “And honestly, you should be flattered that we all feel comfortable enough to let down our guard like that in your home.”

“ _Cheap_ ,” Derek enunciated. “You all feel _cheap_ enough to hold your illegal raves in my loft.”

"That too." Then, shaking his head, Stiles let out a frustrated noise, gesturing with his hand to the scroll. "Okay, seriously, what _is_ this thing? Maybe we’re looking at it upside down.”

But Derek’s attention fragmented again as _that scent_ stirred through the air. As faint as it was, it still smelled rich and tangy, like something Derek wanted to _lick_. Almost as if he was having an out-of-body experience, Derek watched as his own hand reached out, fingers wrapping around Stiles’ wrist and dragging it to his nose. Scenting along the length of Stiles’ hand, Derek let out a ragged breath when he found the source of that smell. 

It was coming from Stiles’ fingers, and this close Derek could tell that Stiles had washed them since he’d touched whatever had left the scent on his skin, but whatever it was had been _strong_ , permeating the tissue. Derek’s eyes fluttered closed, trying to identify the smell and growing frustrated when he couldn’t.

"Dude, what are you—"

"What _is_ that?” Derek asked, his blood quickening in his veins.

"What… what’s what?" 

Hearing the way Stiles gulped, Derek slowly opened his eyes, watching Stiles’ Adam’s apple bob helplessly in his throat. Stiles’ pulse was thrumming a little faster than normal, and a flush was splotching his cheeks with ruddy color. “That _smell_ ,” Derek murmured, eyes focusing on the mole an inch or so to the right of Stiles’ mouth. Without thinking, his lips parted and he tasted Stiles’ finger, trying to identify with one sense what was befuddling another.

Stiles’ breathing went ragged, his heart rate spiking. “Jesus, dude, you can’t just…” But he curled his finger, pressing it more firmly against Derek’s tongue, sliding it deeper into his mouth. 

Making a helpless noise, Derek felt his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to capture another of Stiles’ fingers. Stiles’ pupils were widening, swallowing up the color of his irises until there was just a thin ring of deep brown around the black. 

"You… are you really doing this?" Stiles murmured, shifting toward Derek, moving closer until Derek could feel the heat of him all along the front of his own body. "Is this happening? Fuck. God, look at you. Derek, I need you to—"

When Stiles pulled his finger free of Derek’s mouth, Derek found himself whining, trying to chase it. But Stiles was there instead, lifting Derek’s chin, making him focus with a harshly whispered, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Like he’d been slapped, Derek jerked back, mortification flooding him. Glancing around wildly, Derek retreated until he was halfway across the room. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at Stiles. “Sorry.”

"No. No, you don’t get to do that. Come back here and tell me what’s happening before I call Scott and issue the ‘holy shit, Derek’s been possessed’ alert. I need to know what’s going on with you right now." And even though he was throwing off aroused pheromones, Stiles crossed his arms, standing his ground. His face was set and almost unfamiliar as a serious expression darkened it.

"I…" Derek shrugged, helpless. "I don’t know. It’s… there’s a _scent_ and it’s…” He spread his hands, unable to put into words what he smelled. “It’s on your hand. It’s making me _want_.”

Stiles looked down at his own hand, turning it this way and that as he obviously tried to solve this particular puzzle. And then the flush on his cheeks deepened, washed down his throat and across the little of his chest that Derek could see. _Embarrassment_ rose, sour and brittle, in the air. “Oh god,” Stiles groaned, eyes squeezing shut. 

"You know what it is."

Stiles licked his lips, eyes opening to flicker around the room. “I, uh. Yeah. I think so.”

"Tell me," Derek demanded, breath quickening in something like excitement.

"First, I would like to stress that I _washed my hands_ before I came over. I swear to god, dude, I washed them.”

Derek nodded, a low-level irritation swooping through him at Stiles’ procrastination. 

"So uh," Stiles scratched the back of his head, then pulled his hand away, making a face at it before shoving it in his back pocket. "Before you called, I was… indulging in some ‘Stiles time,’" he used his free hand to add the air quotes, "and those were the fingers that I was…" Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Stiles stared at a point over Derek’s shoulder, nodding slowly, waiting for Derek to get it.

_You know how it is when you’re trying to fuck yourself on your fingers._

Derek felt like he’d been speared through the chest with a metal pole — an unfortunate metaphor, but one that he knew for a fact was apt. “You… that scent was…?” Without meaning to, his gaze dropped to Stiles’ groin, and as he watched avidly, the bulge that pressed against the crotch of Stiles’ pants _shifted_ , like his dick had just throbbed.

When the scent of arousal became almost thick enough to taste, Derek realized that’s exactly what had happened.

There was the audible sound of Stiles swallowing heavily followed by a raspy, “Seriously, dude, you have to stop looking at me like that if you don’t want me to get the wrong idea.”

Derek’s entire being was buzzing, his head filled with images he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like Derek was a prude or anything. He enjoyed sex; he just didn’t enjoy the complete destruction of his life that always seemed to follow.

But as he stared across the space between them, Derek realized something. Something he’d known in the back of his consciousness for a long time. Something he’d never wanted to acknowledge because it was _dangerous_ and made him vulnerable.

Derek trusted Stiles. No, more than that, Stiles had _earned_ Derek’s trust. 

He’d fought it tooth and nail for years, but the truth of it steadied him now. Let him know that any step he took from this moment, in whatever direction, would be okay. And he relaxed. 

Derek advanced, one measured step after another taking him right into Stiles’ space, brought him eyeball to eyeball with the kid he would have sworn an hour ago was half a head shorter than him. Not a kid any longer, though. Not quite a man yet, either, but definitely old enough to make decisions like the one Derek had already made somewhere deep inside himself.

"Do it again," Derek murmured, reaching up, sliding his palm over the side of Stiles’ neck until he could feel that thundering pulse against his skin. He smoothed his thumb over the curve of Stiles’ jaw, trailed it up to his full lower lip and pressed there, watching as Stiles’ mouth parted under the pressure. 

Stiles flicked his tongue out, to wet his lips or taste Derek, he didn’t know, but his voice still sounded somewhat unsure when he whispered, “Do what?”

"Fuck yourself on your fingers. Show me. I want to…"

Head tipping forward, Stiles groaned, eyes rolling up to lock with Derek’s as he sucked Derek’s thumb into his mouth. Derek’s own breathing went ragged then, tremors racing through him when Stiles wrapped his tongue around Derek’s thumb and began sliding his mouth up and down the length like he wanted something else in it.

Derek had no problem obliging if it came to that.

"Just for the record," Stiles slurred around Derek’s thumb, getting it sloppy with spit, "if I fuck myself on my fingers, it’ll be because I’m stretching myself for something else."

Derek dragged his thumb away and replaced it with his mouth, hand dropping to slide around Stiles’ waist and pull him in flush against Derek’s body. He licked past Stiles’ open lips, sucked on his tongue, and rolled his hips against Stiles’ until Stiles broke the kiss. 

Rolling his forehead against Derek’s cheekbone, Stiles lipped at his jaw, one leg sliding up to wind around Derek’s waist. His hands gripped Derek’s shoulders tight, and his hips rocked, sliding his dick against Derek’s firmly. “In case it wasn’t clear,” Stiles gasped against Derek’s ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

Derek nodded, pulling Stiles’ other leg up until both of them were locked around Derek’s waist. And though Stiles shuddered against him, body still undulating, Stiles shook his head, lines furrowing his brow.

"No, I want you to _want_ to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me, Derek? If you don’t… if you don’t, that’s okay. We can—ahhh!”

Derek smirked around the mouthful of Stiles’ throat he held tight between his teeth, enjoying the way the simplest act could strip Stiles of speech. Derek’s head was still buzzing, but it was like the fog that had crept into his brain earlier when Stiles had casually mentioned sticking his fingers in his ass finally dissipated. Maybe this wasn’t something he’d ever considered before. And maybe he was rushing into things — again, a bad habit he really needed to break. But he’d never been more certain about anything in his life as he was about this. “I want to bury my dick in your ass until you forget your own name. Until your scent is rubbed so deep into my skin that every time I touch myself after this, I smell you on me.”

“Oh god.” Stiles’ fingers spasmed against his shoulders, and the air went sharp with the scent of come. 

Drawing his head back, Derek looked down, wondering if Stiles had come just from that. But no, there was no obvious damp spot on the front of his pants, which was probably a good thing. Probably.

Stiles shifted again, a small sound escaping him. Looking up, Derek saw that Stiles’ mouth was cherry red, a little swollen, and the skin of his throat looked scraped raw. “We’re wearing too many clothes,” Stiles whispered, to which Derek just nodded.

Walking across the loft to the bed, he lowered them both, skimming Stiles’ shirt up with his palms until it caught under his arms. Instead of raising them, though, Stiles dropped his elbows, trapping Derek’s hands where they were. 

Flicking his tongue across his lips again, Stiles asked, “Do you have lube? Please, please tell me you have lube.”

"Of course I have lube."

"Fuck, okay. Green light." Without further ado, Stiles raised his arms, letting Derek strip the shirt off of him, ruffling his hair in the process. Stiles returned the favor, then quickly dropped his hands to the front of Derek’s jeans, his nimble fingers making short work of the button and zip before sliding inside and winding around Derek’s dick. "Holy shit," Stiles breathed, pushing Derek’s underwear down and hooking it under his balls. "Sit up a second." 

Frowning, Derek knelt up, crooking one eyebrow at Stiles, who didn’t even notice, too absorbed in his open-mouthed perusal of Derek’s dick. Looking down, Derek watched as Stiles’ fingers wrapped around him, the sight alone enough to make him buck his hips, fucking into that light grasp. But as wonderful as it felt, Derek still couldn’t figure out what was making Stiles look at him like that. 

He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation.

"Jesus, dude. If I’d known your dick was this goddamn perfect, I’d have jumped you a long time ago."

"Pretty sure I’m the one who jumped you," Derek muttered, sitting back until he was out of Stiles’ reach, even if his ‘perfect’ dick throbbed in dismay at the loss of Stiles’ hand. While removing his own, Derek growled, "Take off your pants, dammit. I want to watch you fuck yourself."

Stiles scrambled out of his pants and underwear easily, tossing them somewhere to the side and laying back, spreading his knees unselfconsciously and palming his own dick. A dick that was darkly flushed with blood and much more than a handful. 

Derek stared, open mouthed, before lightheadedness alerted him to the fact that he’d stopped breathing momentarily. Even having taken the time to really _notice_ Stiles for the first time hadn’t prepared him for this. Stiles was fucking pornographically beautiful. 

"Lube," Stiles demanded, holding up one hand, palm out. 

Fetching it out of the box beside his bed, Derek uncapped the half-empty tube and handed it over. He watched, mesmerized, as Stiles drew a line of lube across three fingers. Stiles used his free hand to move his dick to the side then reached down with his lube-coated fingers and pushed them between the cheeks of his ass. Lifting his feet, he tucked his knees against his chest, bringing his ass up. Then, without any build-up at all, he speared two fingers into his ass, his rim stretching easily to accommodate them.

"Fuck," Derek groaned, falling forward. His eyes were locked on Stiles’ hand, on his ass, but Stiles’ leg was casting a shadow right where he wanted to see most, so without thinking, Derek grabbed it, pushing it further up and back until Stiles’ ass was wide open to his avid gaze. 

"Derek! Shit. Oh fuck, you’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?" Stiles panted, drawing Derek’s attention. "Think you can just grab me and bend me and put me wherever you want, huh?"

A slow smirk curved Derek’s lips and he dropped his gaze again. “I _can_ ,” he said with a little shrug, fascinated despite himself at the way the lube made Stiles’ ass all shiny and slippery looking. Reaching down, he slid his index finger into the little crevice between the two fingers Stiles was pumping into himself and tugged at Stiles’ rim, wanting to see _more_. With a bitten-off curse, Stiles tucked another finger together with those and pushed in, his back bowing off the bed. 

"Just… just a second and…" There was a slick, wet sound, and then Stiles was spreading his fingers, stretching his ass open so Derek could see. 

Fumbling at the lube, Derek dripped some onto his own fingers and reached down, tracing around the muscle where it stretched taut. And then he was pressing closer, getting his face right up in there, breathing that heady scent directly from the source. It was almost too much, too _good_. Smelling it wasn’t enough, just as it hadn’t been earlier. Now he had to taste again, get his tongue in there and lap up the flavor.

So he did, dragging it over his and Stiles’ tangled fingers, tonguing at the stretched muscle, answering Stiles’ whimpers with little growls of his own. He rolled that flavor over his tongue and found he wanted _more_ , wanted to just push Stiles’ hand out of the way and fuck him with his tongue.

"Fuck, Derek. _Derek_. God, oh my god, you have to… Derek, you have to fuck me now,” Stiles gasped, his voice taking on a desperate sound. “You have to. Derek, you _have_ to or I’ll… Please, please. Please, you have to fuck me. I want to come on your dick. I…” 

Derek snarled, kneeling up and rocking back and forth impatiently as Stiles slipped his hand free and hooked his feet over Derek’s shoulders. That stopped him momentarily, brought him back to himself enough to look askance at Stiles, who just slapped at him and said, “I’m bendy, okay, now stop worrying and put your dick in me!”

Grabbing Stiles under his ass, Derek lifted Stiles’ lower body off the bed, lined Stiles’ ass up with the head of his dick and didn’t so much thrust in as pull Stiles’ ass onto him. And it was… _god_. It was tight, almost too tight. So tight Derek had to stop, had to readjust his grip on Stiles’ hips and bite his own cheeks to keep from just nutting off right then and there. The sucking, enveloping heat of Stiles’ ass was something Derek didn’t ever want to leave. He wanted to bury his dick there and stay. But as soon as he was all the way in, as soon as his hips were pressed flush to Stiles’ ass, he was pulling out again just to feel Stiles’ body clamping tightly to him, dragging against the pull of Derek’s dick.

He watched it all, watched the way that thin, red ring of muscle swelled around him, watched the lube that coated his dick get squeezed off into Stiles’ ass and the skin around it. He kept his thrusts slow, too absorbed in watching to pay heed to the way Stiles was tossing his head, demanding Derek go faster, harder.

But then Stiles stripped his control completely, curling his upper body toward Derek’s and raising his hand to Derek’s mouth, thrusting his fingers past Derek’s open lips and pressing them to his tongue. The same fingers, of course, that Stiles had fucked himself open on moments before. The fingers that smelled so tantalizing. The flavor that had become all too addicting all too soon.

As soon as the taste of him exploded on Derek’s tongue, he lost control of himself, giving in to the urgent demands of his body. The same demands that Stiles was whispering to him now. Harder. Faster. 

He slammed into Stiles, over and over, unmindful of the fragility of the body below him, but Stiles just melted into it, the rest of his body going loose and pliant even as his ass began to tighten around Derek’s dick. 

"God, yes, Derek, gonna… Please, just… _Fuck!_ " 

Derek lost any hint of a rhythm, just continued sucking strongly on Stiles’ fingers, absorbing that flavor even as he drenched his dick in it. He speared into Stiles over and over, bending Stiles’ body as he wanted, using his grip on Stiles’ hips to jerk Stiles’ ass in tight on every thrust. 

And Stiles just begged for more. “Touch me. Touch me, Derek, I can’t… you have to…”

With a low growl, Derek yanked one hand from Stiles’ hip, some part of him howling with pleasure at seeing the marks his fingers had left there, and wrapped it around his angry-looking cock. Two strokes, three, and Stiles was coming, his voice all strangled screams of Derek’s name as his come spurted hot and thick across his chest and up his throat.

Pushing and tugging until Stiles’ legs were sliding down to curve naturally around his waist, Derek dropped down, nosing up under Stiles’ chin to lick at the come that he could reach. Stiles dragged his fingers from Derek’s mouth, giving him better access, and wound them in his hair, tugging on it in time with each rolling thrust of Derek’s hips.

"Come in me," Stiles whispered, his voice sounding hoarse and wrecked. "I want you to come in me. I want it dripping down my thighs and—"

Derek surged up, eating those words right out of Stiles’ mouth. Elation and possession and a thousand other emotions that no word could define roared through him and with one last, shuddering thrust, he slammed home, his dick swelling and pulsing in Stiles’ ass, filling him up.

With a groan of utmost relief, Derek collapsed, falling on top of Stiles and breathing in the combination of their entwined scents.

"What changed?" Stiles asked from under him after several long minutes, face smushed into Derek’s neck and words muffled but still discernible.

"Hmm?"

With a groan, Stiles pushed at him until Derek rolled onto his side, dragging Stiles with him. Flinging an arm and a leg over Derek, Stiles propped his head on Derek’s chest and wriggled until he was comfortable. “Last week you still looked at me like…”

"Like you were still that kid in the forest, helping Scott try to find his inhaler," Derek finished for him.

"Yeah. So what changed? I mean, if this is just a scent thing and we’re going to go back to the eye rolling and sarcasm later, that’s… you know, whatever. But. I dunno. I’m curious."

Derek dragged his sluggish thoughts into order, considering the question. “You know how you see what you expect to see until something happens to make you look closer?”

"What do you mean? Like a paradigm shift?"

"Yeah." Derek ran his fingers lightly over the skin of Stiles’ back. "A paradigm shift."


End file.
